Anderssen's Mate
by staringatstars07
Summary: Following the demonstration and several misadventures after that, Markus decides to pay Hank a social call. This comes as a surprise to most, but to none more so than Hank himself.


There came a polite knocking at the Anderson household on a Sunday.

Hank wasn't expecting any visitors so that, combined with how he'd nearly had himself convinced he'd imagined it, kept him glued to the couch for a solid minute before a downright cheeky and persistent buzzing began to emanate from the entrance.

Rising slowly to his feet, Hank scowled. "Alright, alright, I'm coming." It was such a patented Connor move that he half-expected to find the android had somehow gotten himself locked outside, but Connor was in the middle of making breakfast, which left a very short list of people willing to pay a visit. Unless, Hank mused, the caller came from Jericho.

And sure enough, a pair of heterochromic optics stared back at him through the peephole, complete with a wave and a cheery smile. Pulling back, Hank frowned thoughtfully, thinking through their past meetings to see if this occasion was really as momentous as it felt. Now, if his memory served, which was admittedly spotty, this was the very first time he'd ever seen the kid smile.

It looked good on him.

"If you're here to see Connor," Hank started once the door was open wide enough for Markus to step inside, and jabbed a thumb in the direction of the kitchen, "he's making pancakes for breakfast."

On cue, Connor poked his head, wearing an apron stained with flour over a loose t-shirt and jeans. "Hey Markus!"

"Hi Connor," greeted Markus, waving. To Hank, he said, "You asked him to make pancakes?"

Stepping aside, Hank lifted his shoulders in an easy shrug, "He told me he wanted to."

Markus stared at him for a moment, taking that in, before shaking his head, biting back a smile. "Of course." Once he was inside, Anderson waited patiently for him to complete a scan of the environment. As usual, Markus found his gaze drawn to the picture frame in the cabinet near the foyer. There was a young child in the photo, with bright blue eyes, a smattering of freckles across his nose, and a mop of disheveled, ashy blond hair.

Looking up, Markus saw those same blue eyes watching him.

He swallowed, a reflexive action he'd picked up on since becoming deviant, and turned from the frame. "Actually, I came here to see you, Mr. Anderson. Is…" His eyes flitted towards the kitchen where he could hear stirring and a low, contented humming, "...that okay?

Already making his way towards the couch, Hank muttered, "Yeah, no, it's fine." Unsure if he should follow or not, Markus remained rooted to the spot. When he was seated, Hank peered over his shoulder, a silver brow arched in surprise as though he were surprised to see him still standing there. With a softened tone, he asked, "What do you need, Markus?"

Startled, Markus blinked. "Need?"

"Sure, what's the trouble?" The lieutenant's voice lowered with concern. "Not another virus, I hope."

"I…" This conversation wasn't going anywhere near the way Markus had imagined it would. "Doesn't anyone ever come over just to talk to you?"

For a moment, he was utterly horrified by his own boldness, and opened his mouth to backpedal, but Hank inadvertently cut off the beginnings of an apology with a chuckle, "Oh, is that all? Sorry, Markus. I guess I'm a little rusty when it comes to visitors. Connor's the real social butterfly of this establishment. Always bringing home new friends and the like." Curious, Markus leaned towards the kitchen to catch a glimpse of blue-tinged ears.

Despite his protests, the television was powered down, and Hank led him outside to the backyard stoop, where he pulled out a pair of folded up lawn chairs for them to sit in, and even retrieved a small plastic table from around the side of the house. Scowling at the dust and accumulated dirt, Hank brushed it off with his sleeve, leaving streaks of mud on the fabric. Letting him do so was in direct opposition to Markus' programming, but he already knew how fiercely independent the lieutenant was, and so forced himself to not to intervene, even knowing that the stains on his clothes were likely going to eat away at him.

Finally satisfied with his work, Hank sank into one of the chairs with a sigh, urging him to sit as well. For a time, they tracked the flight of dragonflies over the grass, thinking about how quickly winter had turned to spring, how merciful and cruel time could be.

"So," Hank started, "is there really nothing wrong?"

Markus shook his head. "I meant what I said, Lieutenant-"

"Hank."

"Hank," he amended sheepishly. "This is just a social call."

The chair Hank was sitting in creaked and groaned in protest when he leaned backwards with a thoughtful hum. "Do you mind if I ask you a question, then?" A little too quickly, Markus shook his head. For an instant, the cop's eyes brightened with amusement. Then he stared ahead. "Connor's free now. You all are. But I can't help worrying that he's still carrying out orders like he's not."

"What do you mean?"

Hank huffed out a frustrated breath, running a hand through his bangs. "Well, why else would he be here? He could be anywhere, doing anything. What's keeping him here?"

Markus scrutinized the lieutenant, searching in vain for some sign of deception, but the man appeared to be, by all accounts, genuinely perplexed. "Maybe it's Sumo," he muttered dryly.

Hank scratched his beard. "True. He does seem attached to him."

Humans could be so strange, sometimes. Markus propped his elbows up on his knees and placed his head on his hands, emulating another human gesture, though he didn't recall where he'd seen it. With a sidelong glance at Hank, he asked, "Do you play chess?"

Hank looked surprised. "I have a set." And he stood, causing Markus to straighten with alarm. "Let me go get it."

"I can-"

"Do you know where it is?" Hank asked before he could finish. When Markus remained stubbornly silent, Hank winked. "Then sit tight. I'll be back before you say Jack Robinson."

And he disappeared indoors, leaving Markus to ponder exactly why he would say Jack Robinson. It was while he was doing a quick search on the name that Hank reappeared with a folded rectangular board that smelled of cedar and varnish. He laid it out on the table and opened it up, allowing Markus to set up the black pieces on his side while Hank arranged the white. Out of habit, Markus slowed his movements to match Hank's. "Okay, so if I win, you have to promise to really think about why Connor might be staying in your home, making pancakes for breakfast that you never asked him to make. Deal?"

Hank raised an eyebrow at that. "And if I win?"

"I don't deal in impossibilities, Lieutenant."

"Ha. Smartass."

Since Hank had the white pieces, he took the first move, and after several pieces were on the board, it became apparent to Markus that he wasn't just moving them without a strategy in mind. He took his time, watched Markus' side of the board as much as his own, tried to predict what actions he would take in response to his moves. It was more than Markus had expected from someone who wasn't Carl Manfred. "You know," said Markus after the board was nearly full, a small pile of black and white pieces on each side, "you could always ask Connor if this is bothering you so much." He knocked over a white knight with a bishop.

Watching as the knight was removed from play, Hank sighed, "Why don't you just tell me?"

"The lessons we learn best come from within ourselves."

Hank rolled his eyes. "Thanks, Confucius."

Though he'd been aggressive with his queen, pawns, and knights, Anderson had played it safe with his king leaving it in the eight rank. As a consequence, there was very little protecting it from the rook and bishop that would have it cornered in several moves. To his credit, Anderson attempted to rectify the mistake by blocking the path with his remaining pieces. When it became clear that there wasn't enough time, however, his gameplay shifted to simple defiance, resigned to his defeat yet determined to make sure Markus had to work for it.

When at last his king was checkmated, Hank did something Markus hadn't anticipated. He leaned over the board, studying the moves and countermoves, and then the corners of his mouth curved upwards in a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "It's been a long time since I've gotten my butt kicked so thoroughly at chess." Still grinning, he shook Markus' hand, though he wasn't quite as enthused when Markus suggested going for two out of three. "Woah, hey, you want to see steam come out of my ears or something?"

"Strange. I thought that didn't happen to humans."

"...Are you telling me it happens to androids?" Markus laughed.

He tried to help clean up, backing down only after Hank shooed him off impatiently, pointing out that he hadn't told him where he kept the boardgames, though that only made Markus more determined to ask Connor later on. It was when Hank was balancing the board with one arm and trying to open the sliding glass door that he paused, looking strangely contemplative. "Hey, Markus?" Markus forced himself to look at the lieutenant and not at the teetering chess board that Hank refused to let him help with, which was definitely not doing his stress levels any favors and _how did Connor live with this man?_ " If anything happens to me, think you could watch out for him?" Immediately, Markus sobered, mulling over the request with the seriousness that was warranted. Behind Hank, and without his knowledge, Connor stood in the living room with a plate full of multigrain pancakes, a thin yellow band circling in his LED. "Like I said, I worry, you know? He hasn't quite gotten the hang of doing what he wants to yet, and it's scary enough trying to navigate life without having to do it on your own." There wasn't a visible change in Connor's expression, but his LED circled more rapidly, a red band joining the yellow, and he retreated towards the kitchen. In that moment, Markus did not envy Hank in the slightest. Following his gaze, Hank caught sight of Connor's apron strings disappearing into the kitchen. He dragged a palm down his face. "Look," he continued, "I don't think anything's going to happen, or at the very least I'm not planning on it, but I've got a dangerous job and I'm getting on in years. Who really knows?"

Well. It wasn't unheard of to prepare for the worst. If he were being completely honest, though, Markus didn't relish the thought of losing one of the first allies to their cause, not so soon after he'd very nearly lost Carl. It wasn't… Deviants hadn't lived long enough, hadn't _loved_ long enough, to experience grief and loss. "Of course, Hank," Markus made himself say, because he _would_ look out for Connor, "but… I really think you should talk to him. You might be surprised."

Carding his fingers through his hair, Hank grumbled, "Yeah, I guess I'll have to."

There was a crash from the kitchen, followed by a shattering of porcelain, and a contrite, "Sorry, Lieutenant!"

"No, you're not," Hank muttered under his breath. He glanced at Markus, clearly uncomfortable. Markus wondered if he was feeling discomfort at the thought of abandoning a guest, which was just so strange and surreal to the former caretaker android he barely knew how to process it.

Instead of addressing it directly, Markus earnestly wished him luck, allowing Hank to relax, some of the tension leaving his frame now that he knew Markus wouldn't mind being left on his own while he did exactly what Markus himself had told him to do.

With nothing better to do, the deviant leader remained in his lawn chair, calmly observing the dragonflies plunge and rise with muted audio processors to drown out the sound of raised voices and excited barks coming from inside.

This was fun. He'd have to make sure to visit more often in the future... if either Hank or Connor remembered him long enough to let him leave.


End file.
